Knotting
by Eve-the-Charlotte
Summary: In which Allison is frustrated, Stiles is freaked, Scott is a freak of nature, and Derek has to sort everything out again. Crack. Disregards Season Two.


_Knotting_ by _Eve-the-Charlotte_

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Wolf, m'kay?

Pairings: Derek/Stiles, past Scott/Allison, and hints of Stiles/Lydia.

I wrote this between midnight and two o'clock in the morning on a weekday, just before Season Two premiered, so it is probably rather cracky and is completely canonically wrong. Bear with me; I just hope one of you readers out there finds this as amusing as I did and still do.

*WerewolfPornForTheWin*

Picture this: small coffee shop on the edge of the town of Beacon Hills, California (because, seriously, all this weird shit happens in California), with a neon sign announcing to the world the place was "BIG D ICK'S OFF SHO ," since eight letters were out and Big Fredrick didn't feel like fixing it, since he seemed to get more costumers at his coffee shop now that the sign was broken. Two of those new customers sat in a dimly lit back corner, despite one having broken off a serious (for a few week anyway) relationship and the other only having a boner for a certain red-haired fashionista/alpha female/possible future ruler of the world and possibly also the hot creeper who lived in a burnt out husk of a house in the middle of the dark, scary woods (you'd thought she'd say creepy, didn't you?), so screw the barista who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the pair. Danny didn't know shit, and Allison was determined to keep it that way. She then noticed her supposed confidante's attention span had shrunk to the size of a fruit fly's since he forgot to take his Adderall this morning. This totally justified the light punch (for an Argent) that left the lacrosse player whimpering in a very manly fashion if anyone asked about it later.

"So," Allison started, leaning in slightly (showing off her cleavage that her companion ignored, because, dude, bros before hoes), since she was speaking softly for only a dog or werewolf to hear, "you're curious as to why I broke up with Scott, right?"

Stiles, who, after trying to resolutely avoid staring at his best bro's ex-girlfriend's boobs, was now trying his best to balance a coffee spoon on his nose and listen to his best friend's melodramatic (though very hot) ex-girlfriend rake his idiotic, oblivious best friend over the coals simultaneously, nodded at that before swearing under his breath as the spoon fell off his nose _again_. Allison grabbed the spoon before it hit the table and moved it out of Stiles's reach, annoyed that her idiotic, oblivious ex-boyfriend's best friend was not focusing entirely on the serious matter she was discussing. Stiles was just dumbstruck for a moment that Allison was coordinated enough to do that. No wonder Scott wanted to bang her, her genes would balance out his genes so that their potential future children would not be completely screwed from having Scott as a baby daddy.

"Where was I, oh yes, I broke up with Scott because we had a few issues over," Allison paused as she saw Stiles now attempting to create music via running his finger over his complementary water glass (never say that Big Fredrick did not run a classy outfit here), which Allison, in a fit of uncharacteristic, sexually repressed rage, snatched the glass from Stiles and poured it over the boy's head, clapping a hand over his mouth before he could scream "Ice rape!" at the top of his lungs. After the ice had melted down the back of Stiles's shirt, she removed her hand and prompted caused the poor guy's head to explode. At least, that was his take later on the proceeding conversation.

Allison huffed, glared at Stiles and his massive amount of immaturity and insensitivity (really, she pouring her heart out to the asshole. Dick!), and growled out, "I broke up with Scott because he knotted when we had sex."

To which Stiles promptly sputtered, "You-he-wait-what the-wait-what?" in a high intelligent manner. Okay, he was a curious teenage male, who researched werewolf stuff to help out his (stupid and oblivious) best friend who was recently turned into a werewolf and who liked to do the dirty with girls who could kill him slowly and painfully (Stiles didn't care much; every man had his kinks, right, and Allison Argent was smoking), and knotting was something he had stumbled upon (long story that he didn't want to think too much about). Basically, as far as Stiles knew (which was about a three second scan of the information before recoiling in horror and throwing his brand new laptop, thankfully very durable, to the floor in a spasm of panic, because that was just too close to bestiality for his blood), it was where a small knob that the base of the werewolf penis would cause grow much larger and lodge itself in the partner's body, causing large amounts of semen (if the werewolf porn writers were to be believed) to flood into whatever receptacle the organ was stuck in (also, these porn writers did not discriminate in terms of gender, which might have caused Stiles's eyeballs to bleed a little bit and for his brain to produce some unusual fantasies involving him and a certain creeper sourwolf who shall remain unnamed) and remain lodged there for God only knew how long (damn those writers for not being time specific!). Also, it seemed that the partner would automatically be up the duff, too. That meant that-that-

Allison stared in a mixture of concern and confusion (and, if she were being completely honest, more than a bit of vindictive amusement) at Stiles, who she might have broken by her sudden announcement. Funny, she thought she might have had to explain what knotting was; guess the rumors were right, and Stiles and that creeper Hale really were doing the horizontal mambo. Too bad, Lydia seemed to finally be gazing in Stilinski's direction, now, too. The girl's train of thought came to an abrupt stop as Stiles panicked very loudly (reaffirming the other coffee shop occupants' collective theory that Sheriff Stilinski's kid really was unhinged).

"Oh my God, does that mean you're pregnant? Holy shit, could you have picked a worse guy to shack up with? I love Scott to pieces, but he's such a retarded dumbass sometimes, often, okay, most of the time. Oh my Jesus, does that mean that all werewolves knot? Dear God, that means Derek, too. And Lydia, too! Wait a second, I don't think Lydia has a dick; does she have a dick, Allison? I don't think, but Derek's an alpha now, and, oh shit, I'm gonna be his bottom bitch now, aren't I? My ass can't handle that much werewolf spunk, especially since Derek's big, ya know? But, oh Jesus, I don't want to be pregnant! Being knocked up would suck, how am I supposed to tell my dad, and how are they supposed to get out of me? Do they rip out of my stomach like that cannibal vampire abomination spawn in Twilight? That would fucking suck; I'd die or some shit, and my half-orphaned mutant werewolf babies would eat me like something out of the Discovery Channel!" The babbling was then cut short by Stiles finally screaming (in a totally manly way, he would assure anyone who asked later) at maximum volume before bolting out of the coffee shop faster than a fat kid running after the ice cream truck.

"But I'm on the pill," Allison muttered as she watched Stiles run quicker than an African at a marathon. Allison sighed into her coffee before taking a sip. Unfortunately, she choked on her beverage, and some of the liquid drained out of her nose as the newly mined alpha werewolf, Derek Hale, Stalker Supreme, slid into the chair occupied up until a moment ago by Stiles's buttocks. Hale frowned (nothing unusual there), before calmly telling Allison, "You know, knotting isn't a normal part of werewolf sexual reproduction. Your ex is just a freak of nature."

Allison just put her head down as she began to laugh in mild hysteria (not because the pot was totally calling the kettle black), because she _would_ have course have dated a guy who was abnormal even for an abnormality. How did her life turn out like this? After a few moment of letting it all out and calming down as the information sunk in, Allison felt collected enough to face Hale, who was watching her uncomfortably, since the emotionally stunted jerkwad probably didn't have a clue as to what to do in this situation (she wasn't going to admit that most people in Hale's situation wouldn't either). She simply stared back at the creature disguised as a man, challenged him to make the first move.

Derek broke the ice (he was an Alpha after all) by asking the hunter girl which direction Stiles had run off to (like a Beverly Hills brat hearing about a seventy-five-percent off shoe sale at a mall; seriously, the younger man didn't even notice Derek just outside the building as he sprinted away). Allison merely glared at him like this entire situation was _his_ fault before mumbling, "Scent him out. Isn't that what dogs do?" Eyes ringed red, Derek suppressed the urge to maim the young woman in front of him, instead slapping enough money on the table to easily cover Stiles's expensive, diabetic coma-inducing coffee drink and grabbing the concoction, intent on tracking down the younger man and handing it to him before giving Stiles a crash course in Werewolves 101.

Despite Scott's weirdness, normal werewolves, as far as Derek knew, did not exhibit such bestial physiological symptoms during mating. The fact that Scott _could_ do that made Derek doubt both the beta's place in his pack _and_ the beta's worthiness of being so close to Stiles. His Stiles, because werewolves did mate only once if they were born one, and Stiles just _did_ things to him, and not just to his dick. And only once in a literal blue moon could _born_ werewolves get _receptive_ males pregnant, so he and Stiles would just have to adopt, because he would be damned if he wasn't going to spend the rest of his days with Stiles. Most of all, Stiles was _no one's_ bitch; he was _the_ mate of an _alpha werewolf_, with all the honor and respect due to the position. Derek just needed to keep Lydia away from his mate (because she was neither woman nor she-wolf, which was terrifying to _Derek_ of all people, even excluding her domineering personality) and convince Stiles to consent to a werewolf's equivalent of a no-backing-out, no-divorce, and no-way-in-hell-infidelity marriage. Given the younger man's reaction, though, Derek was back to square one with his mate. The alpha wasn't worried, though; Stiles would be his before the next spring, come hell or high water. And if Lydia or Scott or the hunter girl (or, God forbid, his beta, despite him already threatening Jackson) tried to come between them, Derek would simply take their heads off like he did his traitorous uncle's. Stiles was _his_.

*WerewolfPornForTheWin*

Fini.


End file.
